


Cake and Other Delights

by dreamingofwinter



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Not Innocent (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Not Oblivious (Good Omens), Cake, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Flirting (Good Omens), Developing Relationship, Episode: Good Omens: Lockdown, Flirting, Food Kink, Good Omens 30th Anniversary, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Kissing, M/M, Phone Call, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Post-Episode: Good Omens: Lockdown, quarantine fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:01:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24136279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamingofwinter/pseuds/dreamingofwinter
Summary: After the phone call, Aziraphale calls Crowley back. This time, it’s the angel doing all the tempting, whether he realises it or not...
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 57





	Cake and Other Delights

**Author's Note:**

> CW for mention of lockdown. Not explicitly though, and only once or twice. The rest is Crowley being reduced to a puddle of goo :)

“ _... slither over and watch you eat cake..._ ”

The words sounded more and more unbelievably cheesy, perhaps even edging towards creepy, the more Crowley thought about them. What the _heavens_ had he been thinking? Two hours had passed since the conversation, and the time had done nothing but exercarberate the feeling of wanting to bang his head repeatedly on the desk in front of him.

Crowley felt a bitter disappointment knowing he had failed to tempt his angel. It wasn’t even tempting, really. Not _tempting_ tempting. He had been on the edge of _begging_ in the wake of Aziraphale’s steadfast resolve. When the angel had phoned him, Crowley had been so hopeful, so certain that within the hour they would be sipping wine and picking at cake ensconced in the back of the bookshop.

Still, with his dreadful track record of attempts at flirtatious comments, he could hardly blame Aziraphale.

Letting out a groan of frustration, Crowley ran his hands through his flame-red hair. Deciding he might as well try and take that nap, he rose to his feet, grabbing the half empty bottle of Scotch that sat on the desk in front of him with the intent of finishing it before he began his month-long slumber.

Before he could take another step, the phone rang again.

Crowley eyed it, puzzled. Those confounded call centres were closed at the moment, and only Aziraphale phoned him besides. _But why?_ The angel had just turned down his offer, what more could he possibly have to talk about?

Realising he had been staring at the ringing phone whilst pondering all of this, he came back to his senses, his hand shooting out to grab the receiver before whoever it was hung up. He answered in his usual clipped greeting.

“Hi.”

“Ah, Crowley, you haven’t taken that nap yet, jolly good. Or did I wake you?” Aziraphale’s voice filled with concern on the last part.

“You didn’t wake me, Aziraphale,” Crowley drawled, his voice even.  
“So what do I owe the pleasure... _again_?”

“Well, I hope you don’t mind me phoning so soon.”

Aziraphale seemed to wait for an answer, despite not posing his words as a question.

“Course not, angel.” _You can phone me anytime._

“Ah, good, wonderful, yes.” Aziraphale seemed... _nervous_? Hope began to blossom inside the demon once more.

“So, did you change your mind?” Crowley dared to ask.

“Oh, I’m afraid not, my dear. As I said before, rules are rules, and we must set an example.” Aziraphale sounded quite certain, yet his voice seemed to be hiding something. Crowley just couldn’t work out _what_.

Before Crowley could argue, or voice his disappointment, or make a sarcastic remark, the angel’s next words stopped him dead in his tracks.

“We were discussing cake. And I’m afraid I can’t possibly allow you to come over and, ah, _watch me eat it_. Incidentally, I do have a slice with me here now which I am just about to tuck in to, if you don’t mind.”

Crowley froze, then made a strangled noise in his throat and sat back down heavily as though he had been punched in the gut.

“Erm - right, sounds good angel. I mean, no. No, don’t mind. Not at all.”

“Wonderful. So as I was sitting here feeling peckish, I couldn’t help recall our picnic. I take it you remember it, the one we had last month?”

Crowley smiled at the memory.

“We had champagne and strawberries. And you made us sit on that bloody tartan rug.”

“I think you’ll find most picnic blankets are tartan.” Aziraphale protested in mock indignation.

“Not these days, angel.”

“Hmm. I’d been saving that champagne for a special occasion. I rather think I found the right one.”

Crowley found himself relaxing as he listened to Aziraphale’s low, soothing tones as he reminisced. Before long, there was a pause in his ramblings and the faint sound of metal scraping against a hard surface.

“... and then you fed me grapes, right there in the middle of the park!” He finished gleefully, around what sounded suspiciously like a mouthful of cake.

There was a moment of silence, then a quiet hum that made Crowley sit up straight and strain to listen.

“Are you - are you eating the cake?” He asked slowly.

“Oh yes. It’s scrummy. Absolutely delightful.”

“I see.”

Oh, how he _wished_ he saw. But hearing the scrape of Aziraphale’s fork, and the swallow (if he listened particularly intently), and the low rumblings of satisfaction after each mouthful, he found he could almost paint a picture in his mind. After all, he had watched the angel eat enough times to commit every microexpression to memory and catalogue each tiny noise of pleasure.

By the time Armageddon had been averted and they had dined at the Ritz, he barely bothered to hide his obsession. Luckily his sunglasses masked the fact his eyes were fixed on the angel’s mouth, or fingers, or throat, depending on the meal.

An audible, almost obscene moan came from Aziraphale, and Crowley pulled at his collar, feeling rather warm.

“The cream in this is just _divine_.”

The demon tried not to groan himself. He tried _not_ to picture Aziraphale licking the cream from his lips, perhaps from his fingers...

Unsuccessfully, of course.

“The texture is lovely too. All soft and fluffy.”

 _Soft_... soft like Aziraphale’s lips. Like his hands, his plush middle; fluffy like his white-blond cherubic curls.

Crowley shifted in his seat, finding his jeans suddenly uncomfortably tight. Giving up trying not to think about his angel eating, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and losing himself in Aziraphale’s voice.

“I think, when all this is over, we should do it again. Just like last time.”

“ _Just like_ last time? As in, _all of it_?” Crowley was breathing heavily now, his pulse beginning to quicken.

“Oh _yes_ ,” came the silky-smooth answer from the other end. “Especially the part where you took my hand. And...” he cut off, moaning around another mouthful of cake.

Crowley was beginning to feel a little light-headed.

“The part where I kissed you?” The demon croaked, throat dry.

“Oh, most _definitely_.”

That had been five weeks ago, before all this infernal business started. It was the last time they had seen each other, and Crowley had dropped Aziraphale off at the bookshop with a chaste kiss goodbye on the lips.

It was also, incidentally, the last time they had spoken about associated _feelings_. It hadn’t seemed right, bringing things up over the phone. Crowley wanted to do things properly, face to face, without moving too fast for his angel.

But now, it was _Aziraphale_ who was bringing it up, _Aziraphale_ who was calmly reducing Crowley to a flustered mess at the other end of the phone.

“ _Ngk_... _angel_.” Crowley’s eyes fluttered shut again as the memory flooded him, remembering how Aziraphale’s hand fitted perfectly together with his, how their lips seemed to be sculpted for each other... how the angel _tasted_. The memory was so vivid, so ingrained in his mind that if Crowley flicked out his tongue he was sure he would taste the champagne and strawberries.

“I’m still here, my dear. Just... _mmm_... got a little cream on my fingers. Better -” there was a pause “- clean them up.”

 _Fuck_. The demon stifled a groan. He was going to burst out of his jeans if Aziraphale kept this up. Imagining the angel’s wet, pink tongue darting out to lap up the cream from his fingers... Imagining it was _himself_ with the cream on his fingers, Aziraphale’s face the perfect expression of mock innocence as he drew Crowley’s digit into his mouth and sucked it clean...

Crowley stopped pretending the angel’s words were not affecting him, and began palming himself lazily over the fabric of his jeans, swimming in his fantasy. He was completely and utterly _fucked_.

“Are you quite alright, Crowley?”

The demon was brought back to reality sharply and realised he had not spoken for some time, instead breathing heavily down the phone. _Like some sort of pervert. Great_ , he thought, mentally cursing himself for allowing things to get this far.

“‘m fine, angel. Just... getting a bit tired.” It was a dreadful excuse, one of the worst ones in human history. Now here he was, rolling it out to distract Aziraphale from potentially picking up on the fact that he was impossibly aroused from simply listening to him eat cake.

“I see.” The angel’s tone was... _playful_. Knowing, even. Crowley pushed down the thoughts of there being any possibility of Aziraphale knowing _exactly_ what he was doing.

“In that case, I take it you won’t be coming over? You really will be taking a nap?”

Crowley was stunned. Confused, even. Had Aziraphale _wanted_ him to come over all along? Even though he’d said-

“I mean, it’s absolutely fine if you do. Decide to sleep, that is. I just _presumed_ , with you being a demon and all, that you would _naturally_ do the opposite... especially when an _angel_ asks you not to do something.”

Something had happened to Aziraphale’s voice. It was confident, wiling, _tempting_. 

When had the angel got to be almost as good at Crowley’s job as Crowley was himself?

The demon gulped for air, attempting to formulate a coherent response. An idea struck him of how he could use the angel’s words to his advantage.

“So...” he began, smirking to himself. “Anything else I need to make sure I absolutely _don’t_ do?”

“Well, after our conversation, I don’t think it wise you resume our activities from the picnic. Who knows what it might lead to. It would be simply _fiendish_ , a demon seducing an angel...”

That was all the motivation Crowley needed.

“See you in ten, angel.”

He hastily threw down the receiver and practically sprinted to the front door of his flat.

........................

Aziraphale hung up the phone, a sly smile playing at his lips. He knew Crowley’s words earlier had been more than incidental. As far as he could tell, the demon was unaware that Aziraphale was in fact _completely_ aware of his little obsession, and he was certainly not going to let on any time soon. Not when he had Crowley practically _melting_ down the phone as he listened to him devour his dessert.

If Aziraphale had put on a bit of a show as he did so, it was _entirely_ for the demon’s benefit.

Almost.

The bookshop door flew open, banging against the wall before slamming shut again. Before Aziraphale could process what was happening, he was grasped roughly and shoved backwards into the nearest bookcase.

Crowley was gripping the front of his shirt; the demon’s expression unreadable behind his glasses. He was _so close_ ; they were almost nose to nose and Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s quickened breaths ghosting his lips as he spoke.

“Is this ok, angel?” He murmured.

Adrenaline coursed through Aziraphale’s corporation after being caught off-guard by the demon so suddenly; and being pushed up against the bookcase, with Crowley’s hardness pressing into his thigh was incredibly erotic. It was _more than_ ok. It was perfect. 

It was _exactly_ what Aziraphale had wanted. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Aziraphale breathed, desperately needing the demon’s lips on his. Before he could request, however, Crowley’s lips were already pressed firmly to his, his tongue flicking out to taste Aziraphale’s lower lip.

Parting his lips to allow Crowley entry, Aziraphale brought his hands to the demon’s hips to pull him closer, eliciting a delicious, deep moan from him. Aziraphale kissed back with fervour, deciding that teasing the demon had been well worth it. Especially given the end result. 

There were so many delicious _activities_ Aziraphale was looking forward to delving into with Crowley, and he fully intended to explore every one. They would have plenty of time now, after all.

As Crowley kissed him open mouthed and full of fiery passion, Aziraphale had no doubt that he had absolutely made the right call.

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea stuck in my head and just had to write it. It’s a little late for the lockdown episode, but only came to me the other day!
> 
> You can read my other lockdown episode fic here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23974291
> 
> Stay safe everyone, and thanks for reading!


End file.
